One Day My Boyfriend Said He Didn’t Know Me Chapter 01
The night Sophie came back to the country, our friends threw her a welcome-home party.
A few rounds of drinks in, someone suggested a game called “Who Can Tell the Most Outrageous Lie.”
To win, I deliberately pointed at my fiancé, Ryan Carter, and then at my best friend, Sophie.
“Actually, those two are the real couple.”
The table went quiet for a second.
Then everyone burst out laughing.
“Emma, you’ve already lost.” Someone slapped the table, cackling. “Ryan and Sophie have been together for years. How is that even a lie?”
I figured they were just playing along, so I didn’t think much of it.
But when I got back to the apartment that night, all of my belongings had been replaced with Sophie’s.
The toothbrush, the slippers, the skincare products, the pajamas—even the spare coat in the closet. None of it was mine.
The photos on the wall had changed too.
In every frame, the person leaning against Ryan’s shoulder was no longer me. It was Sophie.
Over the next two weeks, Ryan and Sophie acted like a real couple—sickeningly sweet.
They came and went together, ate together, watched movies together, showed up together at every gathering with our mutual friends.
And Ryan treated me the way you’d treat your girlfriend’s friend: polite, courteous, distant.
I couldn’t believe it.
I tore through every photo album, begged every mutual friend to back me up, visited every single place I remembered going with Ryan.
But I couldn’t find a single trace—not one shred of proof—that Ryan and I had ever been in love.
Even my parents thought my reaction was strange.
Mom frowned and said, “Isn’t Ryan Sophie’s boyfriend? They’ve been together for years. You’ve always known that.”
After one collapse of reality after another, I started questioning my own sanity.
I made an appointment with a psychiatrist.
The night before the appointment, I was standing outside the front door when I heard a burst of laughter from inside.
Sophie’s voice was trembling with excitement.
“From indifference, to doubt, to total breakdown—the footage is so raw. I’m definitely winning the photography competition this time.”
Mom sounded a little uneasy. “Emma looks like she’s lost so much weight. Maybe we should just tell her now.”
But Ryan laughed.
“We can tell her on the day of Sophie’s competition. I’ll propose to her right there in front of everyone. She’ll be so happy she’ll forget all about it.”
So the game had been fake all along.
The real purpose was to give Sophie footage for her project.
Fine then. I was done playing.
More laughter drifted out from the room.
Sophie patted Ryan on the shoulder. “You really are the best friend a girl could ask for.”
She paused, then asked, “You’re sure she’ll go to the psychiatrist tomorrow?”
Mom let out a soft laugh.
“When has Ryan ever let you down? Tomorrow we’ll get the perfect shot—an ordinary person walking into a psychiatrist’s office, starting to doubt herself.”
“Thanks, Aunt Claire!”
I’d always known Mom liked Sophie.
Growing up, she was forever comparing us—praising Sophie for being sweet and thoughtful, criticizing me for being cold and distant.
But I never imagined she’d shove her own daughter in front of the camera to serve as Sophie’s stepping stone.
My hand trembled uncontrollably against the keypad lock.
The electronic tone chimed.
“Fingerprint does not match.”
The voices inside cut off abruptly.
The door opened quickly.
Dad stood behind it, wearing a look of concern.
“Emma’s home.”
He bent down to get my slippers, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened.
“You can’t keep going on like this. Go see the doctor first thing tomorrow.”
“He’s right, Emma.” Sophie walked up to me. A faint red light pulsed from her pocket, blinking on and off. “If something’s wrong, you shouldn’t put it off. Better to get treated early.”
I didn’t need to guess. She was recording.
I looked at her and shook my head.
“No need.”
I reached for the glass of cold water on the table.
Ryan was faster.
He poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward me.
The warmth of the cup seeped through my palm, and I nearly burst into tears.
During the first month we were together, my period cramps had been so bad I was drenched in cold sweat. Ryan had panicked, rushing around the kitchen. He’d never cooked a thing in his life, but he fumbled his way through making me hot soup.
When it actually helped with the pain, he held me and let out a long breath of relief.
“I need to look after you better. No more cold water during your period. Ever.”
He kept that promise.
For the next five years, he really did watch out for me, every single day.
But now, when he handed me the warm water, what he said was:
“Sophie mentioned you shouldn’t be drinking cold water lately.”
The tenderness that had just flickered to life inside me went out in an instant.
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and nodded.
When I looked up, I caught Sophie watching me, her eyes bright with excitement.
I finally understood.
The warm water wasn’t for me. Capturing my face shifting from gratitude to disappointment—that was the point.
“Just go to the hospital.” Mom dabbed at the corner of her eye, her voice thick. “If nothing else, do it to put my mind at ease.”
She pulled me out the door and into the car.
The whole way there, Ryan and Sophie sat in the front, fingers intertwined, chattering nonstop.
When they got to the part about Ryan confessing his feelings to her with lisianthus, Sophie actually turned around to look at me.
“Emma, he was so hopeless back then. He knew I liked roses, but he insisted on showing up with lisianthus.”
She stared at me without blinking, studying my reaction.
The one who loved lisianthus was me.
The one who’d been confessed to was me.
If this had been yesterday, I would have been fighting back tears.
But now, I was done arguing.
All I said, flatly, was: “Really? You two are so sweet.”
The car lurched to a sudden stop.
Ryan turned around, his eyes complicated as they found mine.
“Emma, are you… are you okay?”
“No.”
I pointed out the window.
“We’re at the hospital.”
The doctor was thorough.
She ran several tests, asked me a series of questions, and then said with quiet confidence, “Miss Miller, you may simply be experiencing elevated anxiety. There is nothing wrong with your mental state.”
Sophie panicked immediately.
“How can there be nothing wrong? She goes around every day claiming my boyfriend is her fiancé.”
She nudged Ryan.
Ryan caught on and stepped forward, pulling out his phone.
“Doctor, are you sure there’s nothing wrong? She’s been sending me these bizarre messages for the past two weeks.”
The screen was filled with messages I’d sent him.
“Ryan, I don’t know if you’ve lost your mind or I’ve lost mine. You’re my boyfriend. Why won’t you admit it?”
“Why have all the photos on my phone been changed to you and Sophie? When did you swap them?”
“Today is your birthday. Last year you said you wanted to go back to the hotel where we first got together to celebrate.”
The doctor studied the dense wall of messages, and her expression turned meaningful.
“Miss Miller, this could indicate delusional disorder. But more likely, it may simply be a boundary issue.”
Nurses filed in and out of the office.
More than a few looked me up and down the way you’d look at a homewrecker.
Someone lowered their voice and said, “The real girlfriend bringing the other woman in for treatment. Now I’ve seen everything.”
“Some women these days will say anything to steal a man.”
The whispers got uglier and louder.
My face went white with humiliation, my fingers shaking beyond my control.
Instinctively, I turned to Ryan for help.
But in that moment, I saw Sophie flash him an eager “OK” sign behind my back.
So exposing my privacy in public—that was just more footage for her project.